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‘Never again’: Bill would expand Holocaust education in Missouri

BY STACEY NEWMAN

Sometimes, in the darkest of times, there appears a small flickering light.

Last week, I was honored to be among a formidable group that testified in the state capital in favor of HB2000, a bill promoting a week of (age appropriate) Holocaust education in Missouri public schools. It is sponsored by Rep. Adam Schwadron, R-St. Charles, one of two Jewish members in the state House.

Each person testifying had a powerful story. As I scanned the faces of those on the House committee for reactions, I saw a softening, a recognition of humanity. Yes, a few members also were advancing bills to ban “uncomfortable” books and the teaching of accurate history.

Noah Kleinlehrer, a senior at Mary Institute and St. Louis Country Day School (MICDS), brought the Holocaust bill idea to Schwadron. HB2000 would expand the Missouri Holocaust Education Commission statute signed into law in 2006. Noah was the first to testify, telling the story of his grandfather’s survival, the impetus for his bill, as his proud parents, Rabbi Elizabeth Hersh Kleinlehrer of Temple Emanuel and Robert Kleinlehrer, watched.

Noah was emphatic.

“I believe we must make ‘never again’ a reality,” he said. “If we stay silent and do not act, we validate the very essence of the ‘final solution,’ which is apathy, to turn a blind eye and to forget.”

Helen Turner of the St. Louis Kaplan Feldman Holocaust Museum and Allyssa Banford of the Jewish Community Relations Council (JCRC) also gave inspiring testimony, as did Rabbi Chaim Landa of the Chabad Jewish Center of St. Charles.

Retired high school teacher Jessica Piper drove eight hours from her northwest rural farm to tell the committee: “I’ve taught the story of Anne Frank and ‘Night’ by Elie Wiesel, teaching tough literature because stepping into someone else’s shoes and seeing the world through marginalized eyes leads to empathy, understanding and, often, solidarity.”

I testified on behalf of my husband, Burt, who, as a second-generation Holocaust survivor, regularly spoke to school and faith groups at the Holocaust museum in St. Louis. It was my first time back in the Missouri Capitol in three years, and I spoke of the survival story of Burt’s grandmother, Sophie Neumann, whom Burt and his cousin Ellen Mandel have immortalized in a treasured family book. I showed the committee a copy of Sophie’s handwritten list of her sisters and their respective death camps, most murdered at Auschwitz-Birkinau.

Our collective testimonies included the names of family members who were among the six million Jews taken from their homes, marched to starvation and gassed, the majority at AuschwitzBirkinau. We emphasized the unimaginable horrors, even though it was uncomfortable to hear. We were determined to appeal to the committee’s hearts, knowing that many had never met a Jewish person or knew much about the Holocaust. Because few survivors are alive today, we were firm that our collective voices must overpower Holocaust deniers.

As a former House member, I can’t recall that many Jewish professionals ever testifying together during a hearing, particularly to a body that frequently uses inflammatory Nazi slurs and Holocaust references in bill debates.

I vividly recall that during a hearing before a committee on which I served, a skinhead wannabe wildly invoked the Holocaust. I waited for the committee chair or anyone to shut down his ugly words. No one did. So, I did. I will never forget the look of horror on the faces of people in the room, many of whom knew I was the only Jew on that committee and the intended target.

Last week, we saw a glimmer of hope in that Jefferson City basement hearing room amid increasing antisemitic threats to synagogues, neighborhoods and families. We explained that Jews live in fear in Missouri, as they do across the nation. As emotional as it was to be there, we insisted that these threats have to stop. We defiantly said that antisemitism must be overpowered.

Twenty-two states, including Texas, Florida and Arkansas, have recently signed similar Holocaust education bills into law. Schwadron, who grew up at Temple Israel in St. Louis, believes strongly that HB2000 can be passed into law in Missouri. I’ve vowed to help him do just that.

“Never again” is not just a slogan or a hashtag. It’s our mission.

From left: Stacey Newman, Kendall Martinez-Wright, Tyler McClay (Missouri Catholic Conference), Jessica Piper, Rabbi Chaim Landa, Noah Kleinlehrer, Rep. Adam Schwadron, Helen Turner (St. Louis Kaplan Feldman Holocaust Museum), Allysa Banford (JCRC), Amy Lutz (Holocaust Museum), Rabbi Elizabeth Hersh (Temple Emanuel) and Robert Kleinlehrer.

Stacey Newman, a former Missouri state representative, is the executive director of ProgressWomen, a statewide social justice group focused on justice and equality issues.

D’VAR TORAH

Parashat Terumah: Where is God to be found?

BY NEAL ROSE

The Rebbe of Kotzk was once asked: “Where is God to be found?” He famously answered” God is found wherever we let God in.”

At first the question seems to be about a specific geographic location (like a synagogue, a temple, or another sacred space).

This week’s Torah reading (Parashat Terumah) tells us that letting the Divine into our lives is related to how we conduct ourselves (ie. the way we relate to others) rather than where.

Previous Torah readings dealt with the origins and history of our people. However, beginning with this Parasha (Terumah) we learn about the construction of the portable sanctuary or the tabernacle (known in Hebrew as the Mishkan). The Hebrew term Mishkan, most likely is derived from the Hebrew root meaning “to dwell” or “to live in”, indicating a place that is fit to receive the Presence of the Holy One.

Whenever our people travelled, they broke the portable sanctuary apart, and when they arrived at their location it was, once again, erected according to the Divine blueprint. Then it was ready to welcome the Presence into its midst.

Because it was such an important project one might have believed that each individual had to contribute a specific amount. Or, perhaps, there might have been a sliding scale based on the wealth or the size of each family. Yet, this was not the case. Rather, it was left to the choice of each individual donor.

Perhaps this was because the tabernacle was such a sacred space, one that should be available to each individual equally. Therefore every person had to feel comfortable with their donation, so that they did not feel alienated from the very structure they were building.

When read in the original Hebrew the point is made even more clearly - it says everyone should donate according to “the generosity of their heart” (Yidvenu Libo), since unless the heart is in it, they will not feel connected to what others regard as the house of God.

The teachers of the Jewish ethical discipline know as Mussar see this text as a paradigm for the Middah known as Nidivut, generosity of soul.

The spirituality of generosity extends not only to the giving of money or other possessions, generosity of soul extends to to the way we make ourselves available to all of life. The Mussar teachers understand generosity as an aspect of the Divine (Chesed) and therefore when we behave in a generous way we are, in fact, acting like God:or as the Kotzker Rebbe said,”we are making room for God” … allowing God to enter.

Our family has been in mourning since the death of our dear friend, Rabanit Malka Goodman. Malka and my wife Carol have been friends since they were both 12 years old. Malka and her late husband, Rabbi Philip Goodman, shared a wide range of life‘s experiences with us. Malka died quite suddenly about a month ago. Due to COVID we attended several evenings of shiva, via Zooom. During those condolence visits we heard the stories of many of Malka’s students in both the early years program, and in the Hebrew school where she taught for many years. Among the mourners were several of the children of her former students.They were her students as well! And in the memories from these multigenerational students we heard how Malka was a master of the soul trait known as Nidivut, generosity of the soul.

Malka was the person other teachers went to when they were unable to deal with difficult students. One such student, now a rabbi himself, told us that Malka welcomed him with unconditional love and acceptance: “She was my first spiritual master,” he said, “my Rebbe of love.” When the young man finished his reflections his wife spoke softly and tearfully. It seems that at an early stage in their married life they encountered very serious issues and they almost broke up. The young wife, knowing how much her husband valued Malka’s opinion, turned to her for couple counseling. After sharing her own personal experience with marital issues, the young woman came to understand the nature of her husband’s behavior. Subsequently they returned to their marriage and they are now the parents of two sweet children. Both were so thankful to Malka.

Another story about the beauty of this generous soul was shared by a young women who also spoke of Malka’s ability to love those she taught. At the conclusion of her remarks she introduced us to a newborn baby: please welcome our little daughter, Malka, she said.

I share these stories with you because Malka Goodman’s generosity of soul, for me, is a powerful example of how Niddivut, human generosity, allows us to experience the presence of the Divine in the midst of the world we inhabit. May her memory continue to be a blessing.

Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Neal Rose serves Congregation B’nai Amoona and is a member of the St. Louis Rabbinical and Cantorial Association, which coordinates the d’var Torah for the Jewish Light.

Missouri’s women senators unite for literacy

BY JILL SCHUPP

The Eleven.

That’s the shorthand name I’ve given to the bipartisan group of women who currently serve in Missouri’s senate. Eleven is an historic number.

It is more women serving together in the upper chamber than ever before in Missouri’s history. For perspective, there are a total of 34 senators each session. And throughout Missouri’s 200 years, 36 women in total have served in our senate. Only 36.

And while it is true women have only been able to vote for about half that time, there is no semblance of proportionality when you consider that 1,118 men have served as state senators.

So when a Capitol regular who works well with both sides of the aisle let us know that one of our department heads was offering to let us, the senate women, use her husband’s “man cave” for a relaxing evening of agenda-free home-cooked dinner and down time this past March, many of us thought that sounded novel and welcome.

Food and beverages were plentiful, and the setting was so welcoming. We talked and laughed, enjoying the informality and each other’s company. The topic of our heretofore unmatched number of 11 senate women during the state’s bicentennial year led to a conversation about doing something positive together that would benefit the people of Missouri.

As each of us chimed in with ideas, the energy was palpable, and we were practically (or maybe actually) jumping out of our seats with excitement.

Two of us will have served together for 14 years after this session — three terms in the House and two terms in the Senate. Over these years of matching roles and shared chambers, we knew and respected each other, but didn’t really work together, didn’t really personally connect.

That evening marked the beginning of change. The topic the group enthusiastically chose was “literacy.” This decision proved to be a critical one, borne out by the numbers. According to a Missouri Department of Elementary and Secondary Education report in 2019, less than half of our students scored at or above grade level in reading.

We want every Missouri child to read on grade level by the end of third grade. It will change young lives for the better. It will open doors of opportunity throughout a lifetime.

That evening, our bi-partisan group decided on a three-pronged program. Exploring, studying and researching best practices will result in our plan or policy to move Missourians to literacy. This is the first of our three-prong program. We are still learning, planning and working.

The second prong was the idea of my longtime Republican counterpart, Sen. Jeanie Riddle. She suggested we write a book about our journeys to the Senate to engage and involve both children and adults. Our different lives and lifestyles were evidence that serving as senators was not the result of some special demographic or magic formula. And just as we each became senators, our message to young people would be “You Can, Too!”

Amazingly, our excitement has been generously supported. The book was completely underwritten by the Missouri Humanities Council, and Missouri Life printed and published the book. The second prong of our program is now complete.

All 36 of the women who served, or their families, participated in writing the stories for the book. The book has a treasure hunt that starts on the back cover to get young readers engaged in searching through the book, and a “mirror” making the reader part of the story.

Prong Three is about taking our message across the state. What if everyone in Missouri joins us in getting excited about reading, not just in the quiet of their living rooms or library, but publicly? What if we had communities coming together to talk about books? Barbers and hairdressers, restaurant workers, car dealers, people at churches, mosques and synagogues — what if they all had books for their visitors, especially the young ones, to enjoy? What if adults made a habit of bringing along a book when they were running errands or visiting others? What if our radio stations and newspapers and television stations devoted a little time to talking about a book to draw in the young ones alongside the adults in the room? What a special way to spend some intergenerational time exploring books. So the 11 of us plan to travel the state, meeting with leaders and community members who want to cheer on reading.

Our project has helped us build new relationships, including with each other. During a legislative impasse that resulted in Gov. Mike Parson having to call a special legislative session this past September, with literally billions of federal dollars on the line, it was the women of the Senate who came together, agreed on a bipartisan solution and got the legislation passed.

This year, we continue working together, whether it is co-sponsoring legislation or simply sitting down and having real conversations instead of just retreating to our corners. No doubt some of the most divisive issues will remain so, but our budding friendships and mutual respect have done what you, our constituents, always ask for us to do. We are talking. We are breaking bread and sharing ideas. We are looking for common ground. None of us will sacrifice our principles. But new ideas and understanding allow us to work more closely together for the greater good and the betterment of Missourians.

And if our efforts are successful, we are hopeful they will have a lasting impact. Our focus is on helping children learn to read so they can read to learn. Literacy got us here. Join us in this effort to give kids the tools they need for their tomorrow. In so many ways, it can open up new worlds.

Jill Schupp is a Democratic member of the Missouri Senate, representing the 24th district consisting of the western suburbs of St. Louis.

Suzanne Epstein-Lang is a lawyer, social worker, wife and mom endlessly striving to eat healthier, get organized and celebrate life’s moments. She and her family belong to Central Reform Congregation. Above, she is shown with her family in 2012 and in more recent image. Books can be purchased for $14.95 by visiting https://bit.ly/Missouri-Senate. If you work with young people, you may qualify for a copy donated by Missouri Humanities Council. Please reach out to Jill.Schupp@senate.mo.gov to make arrangements.

10-year challenge churns up an emotional storm

BY SUZANNE EPSTEIN-LANG

In case you have been living under a rock, there was a popular challenge on social media recently in which participants posted a photo of themselves 10 years ago, along with a current one. Though I see its pitfalls, I must admit I love social media for wholesome fun just like this. But this one sent me into a spiral, and it is not because of the inevitable pounds gained, gray hair found and wrinkles that have appeared in the past decade.

Believe me, there are plenty of these things. But it’s the change in my family that has me “in the feels,” as the saying goes.

Looking for a selfie from 2012 (did I know the word selfie in 2012?), I stumbled across a bunch of photos I had taken of craft projects, decor in our home and my children. The latter two were for my long-abandoned blog (blogs were so 2012), and they could have passed for insignificant except that they reminded me of the way we were living at that time. It all seems so alien to me now and tugs at my heart in the most devastating way.

My kids were 4 and 6. We had just graduated from the baby phase of life, but they were not yet in the serious upper grades of elementary school. We were busy planting succulents for Tu B’Shevat, making pom pom wreaths for Valentine’s Day, baking challah for Shabbat every week and doing some other activity every day in between.

We were planning a magical fairy playdate, eagerly awaiting the groundhog’s arrival, shuttling back and forth to dance lessons and endlessly reorganizing our toy room. I was practicing law part time, but my youngest daughter thought my actual job was being the room mother. I was miffed by this because I was working to show our daughters an example of a “professional woman.”

We lived so communally then. My friends’ children were my children’s friends. Our social sphere revolved around activities that we planned each weekend to entertain the kids: trips to the pumpkin patch, orchard, Science Center, Magic House and COCA Family Theater series.

We hosted and attended more dinner parties than I can recall where the kids retreated to the basement. The kids no longer needing constant supervision but still emptied every last drawer and closet. The adults sat upstairs blissfully unaware of all the changes ahead of us in the next decade. That is until we had to go down and watch the inevitable “show” that signaled the end of the evening.

As cute as my children were and as talented as they actually turned out to be, I hated the show. Sitting in the basement watching their entertainment, I could not help but want to pick up all the toys and chaos around. My mind was already racing to the dishes upstairs and the chores of bedtime. We had to bathe, brush teeth, read books, sing a song or two, and say the shema all before my husband and I could watch a few minutes of adult television together. My second-grader would grasp me so tightly, begging me to stay longer. I can still feel her tiny arms gripping me. I must admit that there were moments when I tried to get away.

What I didn’t know is that our life was pretty simple. No friends had died. We had not experienced the painful moment of early childhood friendships changing and did not know what it would be like when our friend’s children and our children no longer wanted to play in the basement together. No one had gotten so specialized in their activities that they had moved on to the select team. We were blissfully unaware of teenage angst, big kid problems or college applications. None of us could have imagined that we would live in a pandemic (I’m still grappling with that one).

Here I am 10 years later, marveling at how much life has changed with two high schoolers. My babies have turned into beautiful young women while my husband and I are simply a decade older. The thing that gets me are not these physical changes but that in a blink of an eye, my children are no longer little children. They are firmly in high school, buzzing about with their own lives. A family dinner is no longer something I can assume will happen, let alone something I can orchestrate with another family. My girls are ready to launch soon, but I’m not ready to let them go.

The 10-year challenge was more challenging than I thought. The worst part is imagining that the kids don’t remember any of this the same way my husband and I do. I’m no longer upset that my daughter thought my job was to be the room mother. If anything, I hope what she remembers is that my most important job was to be her mom. If I could go back in time, I would savor all the basement talent shows and never wish for one second less in the tight grip of those tiny arms.

I’m bracing myself for what the next 10 years will bring.